“Do you think Andy will be safe tonight?” Robert asked as they walked back to the Bartlett townhouse.
“I imagine he will stay at the church until his mother comes to tell him it’s safe to return home.”
Robert stopped in his tracks. “He stays at the church?”
“Yes. Andy told me when his father is home, his mother sends him to the church to hide. He sleeps under the pews so the clergy won’t find him. The last time his father came home Andy spent nearly a week there. That’s why I gave him the chance to win an extra sandwich last week.”
“What a dreadful life for a young boy.”
“I agree.” She tugged on his elbow then, and he realized they needed to keep walking.
“He seems a bright enough child,” he observed. “It would be a pity if he ended up like his father.”
“Yes. But I don’t know how much longer his mother will be able to protect him. She’s mentioned going to her parents’ home in Bedford. I hope she follows through.”
“That would be best. He wouldn’t be able to continue lessons, but at least he would be safer.”
They reached the townhouse, and the four of them descended the stairs to the servants’ entrance. Nancy placed the basket and food containers in the kitchen for the cook.
Jeanne placed a hand on Robert’s arm.
“I’m glad you stepped in and… protected Andy tonight. We were all fortunate your skills prevented him from coming in and causing harm to someone. Thank you.” She turned and left before he could respond.
Robert and Giles took the hallway to the male servants’ quarters. Robert opened his door, ready to fall into his bed.
“Mr. Townley.” Giles stopped him.
“Yes, Newsome?”
“You — you were astounding tonight. I was ready to come over to help you with that… that man, but you stopped him before I could get there. I never knew you were so handy with your fists.”
“Ah. It’s not something a gentleman boasts about.”
“I suppose not. But how did you learn to fight?”
Robert sighed. “When I was young, a band of ruffians got the best of me. My father took me to Gentleman Jackson’s Saloon and arranged for me to have lessons with one of his apprentices.”
Giles eyes widened, “Did you fight against Gentleman John?”
“No. But I’ve seen him.”
“Tell me about it,” the young footman begged.
“Perhaps another time. It’s late, and we must rise early tomorrow.”
The young man nodded. “Yes, sir. Good night.” But he cast an admiring glance before trudging off to his room.
Robert shook his head. His boxing lessons had done some good tonight. But Jeanne had looked disturbed on their way back. She’d sounded reluctant to offer her words of thanks. Was she disgusted with him for using his fists instead of his words to fend the man off? Did she consider him uncouth? Uncultured? What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t let that awful man come in and look for Andy. Or worse yet, find him.
There was no way he could win.
~~~~
Jeanne prepared for bed, thankful she didn’t have to share a room with the lively Nancy. The girl had been so impressed with Robert’s fighting skills, she hadn’t been able to contain herself once the men were out of sight.
“Oh, Miss Brown, wasn’t Mr. Townley simply amazing? I never knew he was so strong! I’ll wager you always feel safe when you walk with him.”
Jeanne had simply nodded. She didn’t correct the girl’s notion that she and Robert were courting. She just wanted to get to her room and think.
It seemed Robert wasn’t as unfeeling and lofty as she’d thought. He was principled enough to stop the man from entering and possibly harming anyone. And he was strong enough to put his principles into action without even working up a sweat.
As she climbed into her bed, her mind drifted back to bedtimes long ago, when another strong man had been the center of her world. Papa would kiss her good night and Maman would sing her to sleep. Instead of the sounds and smells of the city, the comforting lullaby of the farm creatures and the smell of Maman’s cooking told her she was safe and cared for. Maman, Papa, Jeanne, and baby Pierre. She’d never appreciated her life then, but looking back, she knew it was the last time she’d been truly happy. Even though grandpère could be unpleasant, most of the time it was just the four of them, and that was all right.
Even after they’d moved to England, life had been good. They were together. Their home was smaller, but Papa seemed happier because he found work in the village. Maman was frustrated having to speak English all the time, but she’d done it for the man she loved. Jeanne and Pierre had learned to read and write in English, first from their father, and for a short time, from the vicar. Since Maman never stopped hoping that they could return to France, she spoke to them in French and made sure they read whatever French language literature she could find.
But then Papa had died in the farm accident and the nightmare began. Maman hadn’t been able to reach her father for help. She didn’t know where to turn, and she stopped eating, stopped caring, and Jeanne had to be both mother and father to Pierre. As soon as she was old enough, Jeanne had gone to the village and found work with the Earl of Sudbury’s household. She’d regularly sent money to her mother, but never heard anything in return.
When she’d finally had the chance to go back to the farm, she hadn’t been prepared for the horror of seeing the house burned to the ground. She learned from neighbors that her mother had died in the blaze, but no one knew what had happened to her brother.
Poor little Pierre! Well, he wouldn’t be little any more. He’d been not quite five years old when the family moved to England, not long after the storming of the Bastille. He would now be nearly twenty-eight — if he was still alive.
She rolled to her side and forced herself to think of other things. Dwelling on dark themes and wishing for a return of good times did no good. At well past thirty years of age, she was no wide-eyed miss. Her memories of happy times long past were all she would ever have.